The Solicitous Traitor
by Wolfsbaine
Summary: Walburga Black awaits a visit from her eldest son, what can he have to say to her that she would wish to hear.


Title: The Solicitous Traitor.

Rating: R for Language.

Characters: Sirius Black, Walburga Black.

Genre: Family Drama.

Word Count: 4,440

Author: Wolfsbaine.

Beta: Alisa iii. Thank You.

Summary: Sirius brings his mother the news of Regulus's death.

AN: This is another piece in the Conversation series. I have taken the position that Mrs Black has kept a breast of her son's life and has been well informed of his antics. My own thinking on the matter of would anyone known the truth about Remus Lupin… I don't as far as cannon goes, but I have trouble seeing Snape keeping his mouth shut about such things once he is out of the constraints of Dumbledore and given his desire for revenge is all consuming and this would be an easy strike at Sirius, I am implying that Snape told. But then I think Snape killed Regulus anyway, so what do I know.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, I am not making any money out of said characters, they are all owned in varying rights to JK Rowling, and Warner Bros.

I do however own all that is not related under JK Rowling or Warner Bros rights.

The Solicitous Traitor.

Walburga Black paced the richly carpeted floor of the drawing room. As she walked, she rubbed her hands together to fend off the cold, yet the room in itself was more then sufficiently heated. Her actions were indicative of the thought that kept running through her head… _He will be here shortly—what can he want? Why the formality? He won't have changed his mind; he is far too stubborn for such things. So what has brought him back here? _

Again, she crossed the floor. Mrs Black was a tall woman, well set and extremely attractive, with raven black hair, which unseen by the casual observer had begun to show the tell tale signs of her diminishing middle age, for just at her hairline, silver threads had begun to temper the inky blackness. Sweeping thick black lashes surrounded large feline shaped china clay coloured eyes. She was dressed impeccably in robes befitting her station, which hung in pristine folds. A perfect shade of sapphire blue, complimented her alabaster skin. A collar, four stands deep of perfect black pearls with a silver serpent clasp encircled her throat before filling her décolletage, she patted the pearls unconsciously.

The doorbell thundered insistently through the house. Distracted, she hurried forward to answer it, and as her hand touched the cold metal, the familiar serpent head of the doorknob reminded her of whom she was. Stopping dead in her tracks, she chastised herself._ What am I thinking? Let Kreacher get the door_. Turning angrily, she crossed to her usual chair. Sitting down, she arranged herself into what she hoped was an impressive figure, folding her robes into server constraints while trying to appear nonchalant. Finally having controlled her clothing, her hair, and her expression, she folded her hands demurely in her lap and awaited the elf house's return with her anticipated visitor.

From the hallway she could hear his dulcet tones, still melodic to her ears; he was addressing the house elf. An involuntary quickening of her heart as his steps came closer belied the formidable exterior she wished to convey. The house elf knocked, she indicated for the elf to enter, and he ushered in a tall, black haired young man. As his eyes lighted on her, she fought her instincts. It had been a long time since she had last seen him. He had not altered greatly, perhaps a little thinner then she liked him to be, but on the whole just as he had been the day he had stormed from the house, slamming the door on her plans. His hair was long, she noted. It showed his nobility, and gave her a secret pleasure, for he thought she hated it long. All things considered, he looked well, and this pleased her despite herself. Then she noticed his dress, muggle clothing, and not even smart muggle clothing. The sleeves of a three-quarter-length leather jacket were pushed back over his forearms in an irreverent manner. The hem of the jacket skimmed his skin-tight, faded blue jeans—yes that was what he had called them, the first time he had brought them into her home. The disgust she felt could not be kept from her eyes. _People will think he is of low birth. He has done this on purpose, _she continued to herself as she took in the ripped knee and thigh of the muggle garments. Knowing him as she did, this was some statement against her and her kind, no doubt. She stared at his boots as she struggled with thoughts of the rows of beautifully crafted robes she had bought him in the past. _No doubt the boots are Muggle, too._ They were as sharply pointed at the toe as was the response forming in her mind. She no longer needed to restrain the motherly instinct that had escaped her on seeing her eldest son walk into her drawing room for the first time in more then a year. In these small acts of defiance, he had antagonised her, as she knew he had intended to do.

"Mother." The young man spoke curtly and nodded his head in gesture, more out of habit then respect.

"What brings you to my house again, Sirius? A place I may hasten to remind you, you said you would not darken with your presence while you drew breath."

Mrs Black had grown in stature, even though she had not moved but sat, neatly folded into her chair, the one she always received guests in, the one no other dared sit in, for this chair commanded the strategic high ground of the room. This position gave her advantageous views of anyone coming down the stairs into the hallway or entering the house by the front door as well as the kitchens beyond the hall. From here, she could dictate her wishes without moving a muscle; here she could breathe fire and tradition into her spineless family.

"And nor would I have darkened your doorstep again, Mother, but for a matter of family business," Sirius Black replied with a sarcastic grin and a defiant toss of his head.

"What family? You have no family."

"As you wish, Mother—or would you prefer I call you Mrs Black?" he asked her in a non-committal tone.

"I would prefer you left this place before your father returns and finds I have lost the good sense I was born with, allowing such treachery into my home again."

"Ah, Father, yes, you always defer to him as though he were the head of this family, when in truth you are. The Onyx Matriarch."

"You are too clever for your own good, my boy. It will be your downfall before long, and I just hope I live long enough to see your fall."

"I am sure you will cling grudgingly to this life long after I have gone to my maker. So, shall we make this short and to the point? There seems little use in going over the same old shit," he replied caustically.

"Do not speak to me in such a manner, Sirius. You may have no respect for yourself, but you will at least show me the respect I deserve." She made no gesture; to the casual observer she may as well have been talking of the weather.

"Mother, were I to show you the respect you deserve, a pitch battle would ensue. Now if you will be quiet for a moment—"

"Without wishing to repeat myself, I suggest that you leave. You have said more than I wish to hear already. You have no family to speak of here, so I deduce from this that you can have nothing more to say to me. It was a mistake to let you come."

She pulled at her robe, tidying unseen errant material from her knees; this was the first unspoken acknowledgement that his barbed comments had found their mark.

"And believe me, Mother, I have no desire to be in the same room as you and your cankerous dogma any longer than I need be," he informed her with false politeness. "But I am told that this will come better from me than from a stranger, though personally I doubt it very much; my feeling would be anyone but me would serve you best."

She eyed her son; he stood a good distance from her, nearly on the other side of the room, in short as far away form her as possible. This irritated her. Yet that was the only sign of discomfort he portrayed. Standing in a relaxed, casual manner, one leg placed slightly ahead of the other, so he could rock slowly from one foot to the other, and the irreverence was not lost on her. Nor was the fact that he stood with his thumbs hooked into the pocket of his jeans and stared at her, evenly, unperturbed, his china grey eyes mirroring her own, both pairs registering a flicker of disgust at what they beheld.

The moment was shattered by a knock at the drawing-room door; inwardly she flinched, while noting that his demeanour did not alter. The house elf entered. Bowing low, he inquired of his mistress if she still wished tea to be served as usual in light of her visitor.

"What, so you can poison me, you odious little creep?" The visitor asked with a grimace.

The house elf swung around and fixed him with a stare of hatred, rubbing his small stunted hands together the elf spoke in a sneering manner.

"Kreacher is talking to his Mistress."

"Be quiet, Kreacher," his mistress snapped. Then turning on her son, she added, "Do not address my servants in this house, Sirius." Her irritation at her son's intervention manifested itself in another sharp tug at her robes.

Sirius smiled at her. This time there was real mirth in his smile. She imagined him to be thinking that try as she might, she could still not stop herself using his name. The name she had bestowed on him in a time of pride and love. While she still called him Sirius, he was still tied to her somewhere deep inside, somewhere she had been trying to kill for the passed few years. Words came easily to her; they tripped off her tongue, words of hate for him. But her insides belied each word of hate, for she could not stop herself from using his name. She could not forget what he had once meant to her. Yet she knew each time she called him by his name, it lessened her authority over the situation, and each time he spat out the word Mother, in that sarcastic manner he had cultivated he knew it hit home. It brought back her lost hopes and dreams; it brought back the loss of tradition and of status in the community. Her son, the heir to the Black name, had turned traitor to his kind.

The house elf looked downcast at his mistress's response; had he expected her to turn on her lowlife son. He was sorely mistaken Mrs Black knew exactly who she was, and no matter how much she may rely on the elf for other matters, no matter how much she may despise her son, he was her son, and Kreacher her servant.

"Kreacher, you will not address any member of my family, whomever they are, in such a disrespectful manner in front of me. Know your place, elf, or you may yet find your head mounted on my wall. Now bring me some tea and be quick about it." She spoke sharply as she pulled her errant robes into place.

"Yes, run along, Kreacher, do. There's a good chappy. Mummy and I have business to discuss, don't we maitre?" The heir to the Black name spoke in an affected almost foppish manner as he ran a hand aimlessly through his raven mane.

Again she tugged aimlessly at her robe, smoothing it fiercely as the house elf shuffled off with a backward glance of pained expression at his mistress's dismissal. _But what more does he expect of me?_ She thought. _The Blacks, even this lout of a Black, are above all others. _She addressed the lout of a Black.

"Why do you do this? Why have you come here? To ridicule my name further, to tell me again how you hate this family, our name, and all we stand for? Have you not done enough, Sirius?"

He didn't respond. Her words touched no part of him, except to have him shift his stance and begin to rock irreverently again from the other foot.

But before she could reiterate her questions, there came another knock at the door. Not waiting to be summoned, the house elf pushed open the door and, carrying a laden tea tray entered. Having placed the tray on the table at his mistress's side, he poured her tea, before backing out of the room without his eyes leaving his mistress for one moment.

"That's okay, Kreacher, I didn't want a cup, anyway" Sirius replied with mock indignation.

"Bring another cup and saucer, immediately." Mrs Black rounded on the elf in annoyance.

Kreacher bristled and shuffled from the room. As the door closed, his muffled complaints were not lost on his mistress. Sirius laughed out loud.

"You want to watch he doesn't poison you for that, Mother. Siding with me, the traitor, ne'er-do-well, wickedly disrespectful son against the loyal, arse-kissing little toady."

"Be quiet, you fool. You are always playing the fool; such talents that you have are wasted on you. Your sole ambition is to be a reckless fool, the Black family idiot."

"Yes, well, I have no time to reminisce, he cut in sharply, much as I would love to spend time listening to your motherly praise. I have already been here far too long for my liking, and the stench of a decaying 'Ancient Regime' is beginning to make me heave."

"Then why are you stalling? Say what it is you have to say and leave. I have no wish for you to be here a moment longer than need be, and as I see no need for you to be here…"

"But my tea, Mother, surely we are going to be civilised about this and drink our tea." He smiled at her tauntingly.

On cue the house elf entered. He almost threw the cup onto the tray, as Sirius addressed him.

"No sugar; I'm sweet enough, and just a touch of milk in the cup first, as befits my station as a Black. If that's not to much trouble for you, elf."

Kreacher eyed his mistress, and she in turned looked from the elf to her son with exasperation.

"Give it to me and leave us," she snapped at her servant. "Now!" she barked as she grabbed the cup from him and pointed to the door.

Walburga Black could not hide her anger any longer, and turning from the elf, busied herself with the tea, pretending she could not hear the soft barking laughter of her son.

"That's it Kreacher, bye, bye," Sirius teased

"Do you want this tea, or is it just a ruse to annoy me further?" Mrs Black asked through pursed lips.

"No, I would like the tea," he replied.

As she handed him the cup, she became aware of the sudden hitch in his voice. It was barely perceptible to anyone casually listening, but like all mothers, she knew every twist and turn of her son. Every move he made she could pre-empt; even his growing hatred of her and all she espoused had not escaped her instinctive understanding of him. He was as open to her as any book, and the softening of his voice did not bode well. He was an expert at cut and run tactics, of hurting in the heat of the moment, but when it came to cold-blooded, dispassionate administration of pain, it was not his style.

"I suggest that you say what you came to say, Sirius. It will not become any less challenging in the keeping." She told him as she raised her cup to her lips.

"No, but it is the telling of it that is the challenge."

"Be blunt. Do not hedge. I have always taught you to be direct and fearless." She told him forgetting for a moment their animosity but reacting to his hesitancy. He took a large gulp of his tea, the first and only sign of his discomfort since entering the room.

"I have bad news, regarding Regulus." He told her as he placed the cup of tea on heavy oak sideboard that lined the wall.

Walburga Black paled. As things stood at present in the wizarding community bad news didn't need any further explanation. Staring straight ahead, not seeing the room, not hearing his voice as he tried to continue, her mind filled with images. Regulus, as a small boy running after his brother through the garden just out there beyond the wall she now stared at fiercely, as if expecting to see the moment played out in front of her. He, Regulus, was calling as he ran. He still hadn't mastered Sirius's name; some days it would be Si, and other days he would just nod and pull at Sirius to get his attention. But when it came to anyone asking, it was always with pride that Regulus would look to his older brother—" and so he should" she spoke out loud, addressing no one in particular. Whatever he was now, Sirius had once been a protective, loving older brother. It was only as he reached his teens that he turned traitor to his family and tore it apart. He had stopped speaking at her words, but now he continued tentatively.

"Mother, did you hear me? Regulus is dead."

"I heard you. She answered curtly. Are you expecting me to fall at your feet in a fit of hysterics?"

"No. He paused, I don't know what I was expecting," he replied unguardedly a hand absentmindedly dragged through his hair again.

"How do you know he is dead? You're not exactly on the same side. Perhaps I should steel myself for further revelations."

She saw him bristle at her insinuation and the flicker of disgust that had lurked in the shadow of his eyes flared up burning brightly.

"No, Mother, it was not at my hand your son died." Sirius Black thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

"How would I know? You seem to hate us enough…"

"To kill my own brother?" He pushed his hands further into the pockets, deeper and harder.

"He is your enemy." His mother sniped.

"No, Mother, he is a fool, but he is not evil. He doesn't have it in him." He stared at her, unperturbed.

"You are so sure you know him. He believes in what he fights for. He believes in this family and what we stand for." Her eyes narrowed as she reminded her first born of his dereliction of duty.

"Does he, or is he just trying to be the dutiful son?" he asked pointedly.

"He was a dutiful son, don't you mean…"

She noted his involuntary wince, now he hesitated before continuing in a more resigned tone.

" I came to tell you, not because I thought it would be better coming from me…"

"No, you came to tell me so you could gloat." Her voice quivered with restraint, unconsciously her hand had moved to her pearls, now as she spoke she fingered them. "So you could tell me how wrong I am once again, how my thinking has caused my son's death." This time she pulled so hard at her robe there was an audible rip.

"No, Sirius, you came to gloat. You may not know it, but you did." Her eyes narrowed even further taking on a harder edge. "You came to point out how I sent my only son to his death." She clutched at the pearls, which audibly clinked together alerting her to her actions. Quickly she moved to subdue the errant appendages, which seemed intent on escaping her control much as her eldest son had done.

"Of course I did, Mother. Of course I came here to gloat over Regulus's death. I wanted to see you broken, and if Regulus's death could do that and I could be present when it happened, how happy I would be."

"You hated him; you called him an idiot," she barked.

"He was for listening to you. He was stubborn. Time and time again I tried to get him to see that you were wrong, but no, he would tell me I was wrong, I was being disrespectful, after all you had done for me. He told me it was my duty to carry on the Black traditions, to be the son you wanted, which is what I found idiotic. He wasn't like you; he never looked down on anyone. You twisted him." He spoke imploringly.

"As if you would know. You can't even see how twisted you are, turning against your family as you have, consorting with those beneath you. James Potter another traitor to his kind, his muggle whore and that, that werewolf you have befriended; have you no pride?"

Her son was visibly shocked at the revelation but his wits were as sharp as her own and he countered quickly.

"Tons, Mother. I am proud to have 'that werewolf,' as you call him, call me friend. It is I that am not his equal, not the other way round. Again he paused and drew breath before asking. I am intrigued to know how you know about him?"

"That is my business. I too have accesses to information, and there are plenty of people prepared to denounce you, try stopping them. You talk nonsense. You have for years, ever since you took up with Potter."

"Of course it was James's fault. I couldn't think for myself, could I? I couldn't decide that you were wrong without someone leading me by the nose to that conclusion, just as you had to indoctrinate me to think other wise as a child."

"You think by declaring you are one of them, by copying Potter and taking up with a muggle whore of your own, you will belong, you will fit in, they will accept you. You will always be an outsider, not quiet on their level; they will never really trust you, you are a Black. Your upbringing will show through, it gets away from you now. Regulus kept me informed of your antics and how you behaved at Hogwarts. No, your nature will out in the end and you will be forced to return to your family with your tail between your legs."

"No, I won't. He spat the words at her angrily. It has always got to be about you and this bloody family. What you believe, what you stand for, and how fucking great it is to be a Black. He threw his head back in mocking gesture. Well let me tell you, it isn't great to be Black it's a pain in the arse being one. And another thing I would take up with as many muggle whores' as I could manage, except I want your line to die, for your precious dynasty of Blacks to die with me. So do not fear mother I wont contaminate your blood line with half blood offspring. I will have the last laugh this time mother and there is nothing you can do about it, your line will die with me. He hesitated disgust palpable on his face, eyes blazing in fury. FURTHER MORE I CAME HERE TO TELL YOU YOUR SON HAD BEEN KILLED, OUT OF COMMON DECENCY I CAME. BUT NO, YOU HAVE REDUCED IT TO A SLANGING MATCH ABOUT MY CHOICES IN LIFE. YOUR SON IS DEAD, WOMAN. LOOK TO THAT AND LEAVE ME OUT OF IT." He roared.

Mrs Black fixed her son with a chilling stare and spoke precisely with emphasized diction "He is dead because of you."

Her statement took the young man aback. His head dropped forward, and he stared at the ground clearly wounded by this remark. But she did not care, she had him now. She could sense his pain, she knew him so well he would already be blaming himself and she wanted to hurt him more to make him pay, it was his fault. If he had stayed true to his family, if he had been the son she had known once, Regulus would be alive. It was his fault her son was dead. She knew that had Sirius not deserted his family Regulus would be alive and safe, because he Sirius would have seen to it that he was, as he had always done when they were children. She wanted to hurt him, she wanted to break him, to run at him and tear at his face digging her fingernails into him to make him feel her pain at losing her son, but instead she addressed him.

"You killed him as surely as if you had administered the fatal blow yourself," she snarled. "It should have been you that died in his stead. I will hold you responsible for every death in my family from the hands of the rebel band of mudblood lovers you call friends. But not only will I hold you responsible for Regulus's death I will never forgive you Sirius. You should have been there to protected him and you weren't you turned your back on him and favoured others all in the name of glory for yourself. He was your flesh and blood, he loved you and you deserted him." She told him icily, as her eyes brimmed with unbidden tears.

They stared at one another hostility crackling like electricity between them, her hands twitched at her sides. Finally he broke the silence, his eyes not leaving hers for a moment.

"So be it. I don't think we have anything further to say to one another. Do you, Mother?"

He waited for a moment, but when she did not respond, he made for the door. As his hand fell on the cold metal serpent handle, she spoke again. Haltingly, she asked.

"How did my son die?"

He paused, she saw him turn his head slightly to one side to look back over his shoulder as he addressed her, his tone was formal and suddenly she knew these would be the last words he would ever speak to her and something in her chest gave an audible cry of pain.

"You will understand, as a supporter of the enemy, I cannot give you any further details of how I know of the death of Regulus Black or under what circumstances he died. But I will say this: look to his own side for his murderer, and from information garnered here I would suggest you look to who ever informed him I had a werewolf for a friend. Were I pushed on the matter, I might suggest that Regulus Black's death was vengeance by an opportunistic hand."

He pulled the drawing room door open and a rush of warm air hit the icy atmosphere; he turned and stared at her for what seemed like an age and for the first time in her life, his expression was unreadable. She did not know, nor could she guess, what he was thinking as he stood there. Then he turned and was gone. In those fleeting moments, he did not see the slight gesture of her hand in appeal toward him; he did not see the glistening tears slip gracefully from her eyes and slide unchecked down her alabaster countenance.

Seconds past before the front door slammed shut.

The drawing room was deathly silent. Walburga Black pulled her robes straight, pushed her hair back from her temples, straightened the collar of black pearls with the silver serpent clasp and finally brushed the tears that were coursing down her cheeks away. She would never again give in to such weakness as tears. She had lost everything, her very reason for living, but she would never let a living soul know it. She rose from her chair and walked unsteadily to the fireplace. There she reached for the bell pull tugging it sharply. It was several agonising minutes before the door was opened and the house elf entered. Turning to it Walburga straightened to her full height, smoothed the front of her robes once more, and addressed her servant.

"Clear away the tea things and set the table for dinner, elf. Your master will be home shortly."

Then, turning back to the fire, she stared at the flickering flames. A shiver ran through her, but it mattered not; she would never again feel warm.


End file.
